


No (wo)man is an island

by Wonko



Series: Episodes [2]
Category: Holby City
Genre: Alternate Ending, Episode Related, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-12
Updated: 2017-09-12
Packaged: 2018-12-27 06:55:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12075840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wonko/pseuds/Wonko
Summary: Alternate ending to S18E31: "It Tolls For Thee." Serena changes her mind about getting that drink, and Bernie makes sure she ends the day with a smile on her face.





	No (wo)man is an island

**Author's Note:**

> I have a few ideas for episode related fics/alternate endings, so I'm lumping them together in a series. However, they are all standalone and not really intended to be direct follow ups of each other.

_“I clock off in ten.”_

_“Thanks, I’ll...pass.”_

_“Okay. Okay. I give up.”_

* * * * *

Serena spent the entire walk from the ward to the hospital’s main entrance feeling like a complete and total cad. Bernie had done nothing but be kind and generous to her all day. Well, from the previous night actually. An olive branch had been well and truly extended. And now, instead of going for a friendly drink with her, she had rebuffed her offer of companionship and friendship, in favour of going home to an empty house to stew over her mistakes.

“You bloody fool,” she muttered to herself. Because really, what right did she have to be angry with Bernie? So she hadn’t outed herself and her indiscretion to a woman she barely knew. So what? She wasn’t owed Bernie’s truth just because she’d dropped a few casual references to her bastard ex-husband’s various infidelities into the mix. Those truths cost her nothing. What had Bernie’s truth cost her?

This last thought was what made her stop.

Fifteen minutes later, Bernie emerged from the hospital, bundled up in a coat with her bag slung over her shoulders and her head down. There was a sour knot in her stomach that she hoped to loosen soon with alcohol. Not at Albie’s; she didn’t think she could stand seeing anyone from the hospital tonight. No, she was going to go home and open the cheapest, nastiest blended whisky she owned, because there was no point wasting the good stuff on a night like tonight.

Her cheeks reddened as she played the scene in the corridor over again. She had been so hopeful, so pathetically invested in making a friend. The sting of Serena’s rejection was still fresh, still sharp. She felt like an idiot; a grand-prize winning moron. Of course Serena wanted nothing to do with her. She was a liar, a cheat, a hypocrite - everything she knew Serena hated. And what was that she’d said? Her hobby was keeping life-long grudges. She’d laughed at that at the time, thinking she must have meant it at least partially facetiously. Now she wasn’t so sure.

“Bloody old fool,” she muttered bitterly as she dug through the pockets of her coat, hunting for her car keys.

“Yes, I probably am.”

Bernie’s head snapped up and her eyes widened as she took in the sight of Serena leaning awkwardly against the driver’s side door of her MX5.

“Serena,” she croaked, then coughed and tried again. “What are you doing here?”

Serena smiled almost shyly. “Is that drink still on the table?” she asked. “Just-” She paused and shook her head. “Not Albie’s. I’ll be the talk of the hospital by now and I just can’t face that tonight.”

Bernie shifted her weight nervously from one foot to the other. “Well, uhm...you could come back to my place, if you like…”

Serena took a breath, the implied intimacy of the location springing a polite demurral automatically to her lips, but then she stopped herself. This was why she’d stopped after all; to properly accept Bernie’s apology and get over herself. “Okay,” she said softly.

The drive to Bernie’s flat was short and quiet. Neither woman seemed to have a lot to say, but Radio 4 filled the silence quite adequately. The flat, when they reached it, proved to be one of several in a row of converted Victorian-era terraces. “I’ve got the basement,” Bernie explained as she led Serena to her door. “It’s a bit dingy, but I didn’t want to deal with a communal entrance with the hours I keep.”

“I’m sure it’s very nice,” Serena said.

It wasn’t, really. The entrance hall was cramped and dark, with just enough room for them to both hang up their coats and take off their shoes without bumping into each other. The living room was likewise dark, as all basement flats were wont to be, but it at least had the high ceiling and intricate plaster-work that spoke of the original dwelling’s Victorian pedigree. Bernie had clearly not unpacked much, if at all, as the room was strewn with boxes - one particularly large one being used as a table; another as a TV stand.

“Sit down,” Bernie said distractedly, clearing a pile of clean, folded clothes off the room’s single armchair. “I’ll be right back.”

After she’d disappeared into another room, presumably to put the clothes away, Serena allowed herself to give in to the impulse to snoop. Most of the boxes were still taped shut, and were already showing signs of neglect, dust gathering in a light layer over their surfaces. It was obvious that Bernie saw this place as nothing but somewhere to sleep and possibly eat - although the small kitchen space off to the side of the living room looked pristine and unused. A quick glance into the uncovered rubbish bin next to the fridge confirmed Serena’s suspicions - pizza boxes and takeaway cartons.

“Cooking for one’s not much fun.”

Serena whirled round, embarrassed to have been caught, but Bernie just smiled. “It’s fine.”

Serena coughed, more as a way to regain her composure than to clear her throat. “Well, there are two of us tonight.”

Bernie winced. “Uhm...I think any food in my fridge will have evolved its own ecosystem by now.”

Serena raised an eyebrow. “For such a brilliant doctor you have some appalling habits. Come on, I saw a Tesco Express round the corner. We can pick up a couple of bottles of shiraz while we’re there.”

Bernie looked bemused for a second until she realised what Serena was suggesting. They quickly returned to the hall and reclaimed their shoes and coats. Serena insisted she wanted to walk the quarter mile or so to the shop, so Bernie left her car keys on the hall table.

“Do you really think I’m brilliant?” she asked as they closed the front door, and Serena laughed.

A quick jaunt round Tesco later, they returned carrying bags of fresh pasta, vegetables, parmesan, the all important shiraz, and a pack of four wine glasses, since Bernie had admitted to drinking her wine from a tumbler and Serena had been scandalised and indignant. “I certainly hope you don’t expect me to descend to that level of savagery Ms Wolfe,” she’d said archly.

“Not at all, Ms Campbell,” Bernie had replied, her voice tinged with laughter as she picked up the glasses and put them in her basket.

“Do you want to cook, or shall I?” Serena asked, resting her bag on top of the miniscule work surface of Bernie’s kitchen.

Bernie flushed. “Oh, I couldn’t ask you to-” she began, but Serena waved off the objection.

“I’m offering, you’re not asking,” she said. “You chop the vegetables, I’ll deal with the pasta. And open that bottle to let it breathe, would you?”

They turned out to be as good a partnership in the kitchen as they were in the operating theatre - the one always seemingly perfectly in sync with what the other would need at any particular moment. Within twenty minutes they were tucking in to bowls of linguine and a light sauce that Serena had made with fresh tomatoes, garlic, celery and courgettes. Serena sat in the living room’s single chair, while Bernie professed herself to be happy perching on an unopened cardboard box of medical textbooks.

“This is the first decent meal I’ve had in…” Bernie trailed off, frowning. “Probably since before I left Marcus.”

Serena chewed and swallowed another mouthful before she took the opening that had been presented to her. “And how are you feeling?” she asked, careful not to meet Bernie’s eyes. “About the divorce, I mean.”

Bernie sucked in a breath through her teeth. “Had to be done,” she said. “Wouldn’t have been fair on him to keep going.”

“Well, that’s certainly true, but what I mean is…” She took a sip of her shiraz, trying to formulate her thoughts. “The end of a relationship is always sad, but for you there must be...I don’t mean to sound callous, but you must also be-”

“Relieved?”

Serena flushed. “Ignore me, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No, it’s all right,” Bernie said softly. She took a long pull of her wine, draining the last drops, then went to pour herself another. She held the bottle out towards Serena, who gratefully proffered her glass for a top up. “You’re right. I’ve spent my entire life trying so hard to be what people wanted me to be. To fit into the expected mould. And now that’s all over and I’m sad that I’ve hurt him and our children, I really am, but…” She shrugged. “There’s this part of me that’s so relieved and so happy, because I finally get to be myself.”

Serena felt a sudden sting of tears in her eyes. What Bernie had said was so similar to a sentiment she’d drunkenly expressed to Raf after her mother died that she found herself struck suddenly dumb by the same ambivalent swirl of pain and exhilaration she’d felt back then, and that Bernie was feeling now.

“Well, I’m glad,” she said at last, a few seconds before the silence officially became awkward. “To lock you into the world’s drab expectations would be a crime. You’re just so...you. One of a kind.”

Bernie laughed. “How much of that wine have you had, Campbell?” she asked teasingly.

“Not enough by half,” Serena replied, grabbing the second bottle. A thought floated through her mind just then, a snatch of something she’d heard at school years and years ago. “How can the bird that is born for joy sit in a cage and sing?” she murmured, barely even realising she was saying it out loud.

Bernie looked up at her through her fringe. “Oh, I’m a bird am I? What kind of bird?”

Serena searched for something to lighten the mood. “A Canada goose,” she said immediately and Bernie honked with laughter. “See?”

Bernie shook her head, grinning. “I think we both need more wine,” she said.

* * * * *

“And then I said,” Serena slurred, gesturing expansively with the hand not holding her wine glass, “I will not be told what’s best for my patients by a man with a spreadsheet for a heart and all the personality of a fax machine.”

Bernie collapsed in helpless giggles against Serena’s shoulder, gripping her wine glass tightly to stop the last few mouthfuls from slopping down the sides. 

“Was this before or after you used the hospital credit card to buy the whole ward takeaways?”

“After!”

They’d both somehow ended up on the floor at some point, leaning against the wall. It had probably seemed like a good idea somewhere between the fourth and fifth glass of wine, but Bernie knew she’d regret it when it came time to haul herself to her feet. Still, for now she was having fun so she ignored the odd twinge in her back as she reached over a still giggling Serena to grab the wine bottle. She turned it upside down over her glass, and frowned when nothing happened.

“Hang on, something’s gone wrong here,” she muttered, bringing the bottle over to her eye and peering up into it. “Someone’s stolen our wine.” A rogue drop formed at the lip of the bottle and fell, inevitably, into Bernie’s eye. 

“I do believe it’s empty,” Serena gasped, shaking with helpless laughter at the sight of Bernie furiously blinking and rubbing her shiraz-tainted eyeball.

“Well, shit,” Bernie grunted, rolling the empty bottle across the carpet. It came to rest against yet another unpacked box.

“Anyway,” Serena mumbled as she finished her last sip of wine and leaned over to place the empty glass gingerly on the coffee-table-box, “all that was...well, before I did things like leaving my laptop in the car to get stolen and getting myself suspended.” 

A warm hand covered hers where it rested on the carpet. “Before you had a charming but difficult nephew to look after, you mean?”

“Bingo.” Serena tapped a finger on Bernie’s temple, and then dissolved in giggles again. “Oh, there just aren’t enough hours in the day, that’s all. Too much to do.” She cleared her throat. “My candle burns at both ends, it will not last the night-”

“But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends, it gives a lovely light.” Bernie smiled.

Their eyes caught and held, gentle smiles gracing their lips. “I must really be drunk to be breaking out the poetry,” Serena mumbled. Bernie laughed.

“You may be right.” She squeezed Serena’s hand and then let go. “Does your daughter help with Jason at all?”

Serena snorted. “Not bloody likely,” she said. “I’m informed that adult children do eventually stop behaving like infants, but I’m yet to see first-hand evidence.”

Bernie laughed. “Well, never mind. You’ve got me.”

Serena blinked. “I do?”

“Of course. I mean,” she said, eyes widening as she realised she’d probably overstepped, “I mean, if you want. I was in the army after all, I’m good with routine and structure. So, you could call me if you needed help and I’d...I mean, if you want-”

She was silenced by Serena’s finger coming to rest gently on her lips. “You know, I think that might be the nicest thing anyone’s offered me in ages,” she said softly. “But I can’t call you.”

Bernie blushed. “No, of course not. Sorry, I-”

“Because I don’t have your number.”

With that Serena grabbed Bernie’s and her phones and began tapping details into both contact apps. Bernie frowned as she saw what she was doing. “Why are you recording my name as BMAM?” she asked.

“Big Macho Army Medic,” Serena replied, as if it were obvious.

“Ah.” She smiled. “And what are you going to be in mine?”

Serena looked up and grinned. “Queen of AAU.”

Two hours later, after a call from Jason complaining about her ruining his schedule, a quick cab journey and a second supper (Jason insisted) Serena propped herself up on her pillows and tapped out a quick text. 

 ** _To: BMAM_**  
**_From: Queen of AAU_**  
_Thanks for tonight. I’m glad_  
_I stopped being such a stubborn_  
_old goat._

 ** _To: Queen of AAU_**  
**_From: BMAM_**  
_Me too. I very seldom invite_  
_goats into my home due to_  
_their propensity to eat clothes_  
_off washing lines and tinkle on_  
_the rug._

 ** _To: BMAM_**  
**_From: Queen of AAU_**  
_Oh, yes, I meant to say something_  
_about the rug. I’d had a lot to drink,_  
_you understand._

 ** _To: Queen of AAU_**  
**_From: BMAM_**  
_Beast. :-p_

Serena snorted with laughter, then put the phone on to charge. She thought she’d lie in tomorrow. No work to go to after all, not for several days. She should have been depressed by that fact, should have been worrying about her job and the mistakes she’d made. But she wasn’t. Because somehow, amazingly, even after this hellish day, Bernie Wolfe had made sure that Serena Campbell fell asleep with a smile on her face.

**Author's Note:**

> Poetry quotations from William Blake's _The Schoolboy_ and Edna St Vincent Millay's _First Fig_.


End file.
